


Three Weeks

by N1ghtWr1ter, RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Begging, F/F, Fingering, Healing Sex, Lexa's Not Dead, Life-Affirming Sex, Oral Sex, Recovery, Rough Sex, Teasing, Vanilla, and this is Lexa's chance to show it, positivity, rough sex turned soft, switch - Freeform, they're happy and alive and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 02:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8515600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtWr1ter/pseuds/N1ghtWr1ter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: Lexa's spent the last three weeks in bed, recovering from the gunshot wound that nearly killed her. Clarke's been taking care of her every need, but now it's her turn to show Clarke just how much she appreciates that care.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Starts out rough but turns into sappy life-affirming bullshit and I think we could all use some of that.

Three weeks.

Lexa has spent three weeks in the same bed, looking out the same window, watching the same shadows pass over the floor of her room as the sun follows its set path across the sky. She has spent three weeks neglecting her duties. Three weeks wrestling with restlessness, helplessness, and shame. She is  _ Heda _ . She is supposed to be stronger than this, but a tiny bullet, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, has injured her far more grievously than any sword or arrow.

She now understands why  _ fayogon _ are considered cursed by her people. They do not offer a fair fight or even guarantee a clean death. But while her body has been incapacitated, her mind races on. Titus has been locked away and she is to decide his fate when her recovery is complete. Arkadia remains a threat to her people and their massacre of  _ Trikru _ must be avenged in some way, even if it isn't with mindless slaughter. And here she is. In bed. Useless.

Clarke says abdominal wounds like this are serious. Clarke says the recovery time is several weeks at best, and Lexa is lucky the bullet only went through muscle instead of puncturing any vital organs. Clarke says if the bullet had hit her stomach, the fluids inside would have poisoned her blood in a matter of minutes, if she hadn't bled out first. But even though she knows she should be grateful for her life, Lexa can't help feeling angry.

In some ways, this is worse. If her fight had ended, a new Commander could have been chosen—a Commander who isn’t too soft to deal with Titus's betrayal, who can act swiftly to handle the problem of Arkadia. A Commander strong enough to ride into battle and wield a weapon instead of being trapped in bed like an invalid. She should have died. It would have been better for her people. For everyone.

And yet...

And yet she can't quite believe that anymore. If she had died, there’s no guarantee that the new Commander would have shown mercy, a quality that requires much more strength of character than vengeance. If she had died, her young Nightbloods would have been forced to kill each other for the so-called 'honor' of replacing her. From experience, Lexa knows the winner would have suffered most of all, carrying the weight of thousands on their shoulders. And if she had died...

If she had died, she would never gaze into the beautiful blue of Clarke's eyes again.

Some selfish part of her is glad to be alive and she knows that part is the piece of Clarke that has crept into her heart.

"Lexa?"

The sound of a familiar voice has Lexa's heart pounding faster than usual. She sits up, wincing only a little. Her injuries are better than Clarke and the healers seem to think, although it still pains her somewhat to move. There is no reason for her to be confined to this bed aside from their orders.

_ "Klark?" _ She doesn't bother waiting for a response. She knows it is Clarke. Even without the voice, some part of her is able to sense her lover's presence. Over the past few weeks, Clarke is the one thing, the one person, who has given her hope.  _ "Min yu op." _

The door creaks open and Lexa can’t hold back her smile. It widens when Clarke echoes her expression, blue eyes glowing with the care and happiness that Lexa has come to expect, but never to take for granted. She still craves every grin, every tender look, her soul hungrily drinking in the signs of Clarke’s affection for her. There have been times when a single bright smile was enough to make Lexa feel like she was visiting the stars Clarke has come from.

Today, however, the grin drops off Lexa’s face much sooner than usual, eclipsed by the dark thoughts that have been swirling in her brain like stormclouds. Clarke notices, of course. She's  _ Clarke,  _ and she's been Lexa’s primary healer and constant companion ever since the…incident. Clarke has gotten to know her incredibly well—although if she's being honest, Lexa has always felt herself to be an open book before Clarke, laid bare to her knowing hands and understanding eyes. Ordinarily, this is something she cannot value too highly, as there are few still alive for whom she could say the same.  _ To be Commander is to be alone,  _ Titus’s voice echoes in her mind. But at this moment, she wishes she could be a little more opaque.

Turning away from Clarke, Lexa looks out the window at the glowering bank of summer clouds gathering around the crags that ring Polis. Her  _ niron’s  _ voice chases her swiftly. “Lexa, what’s wrong?” The tips of Clarke’s fingers slide under her chin and along her jaw, and Lexa turns her head to lean into the touch, avoiding the concerned blue eyes that seek out her own troubled green ones.

This does not go unnoticed by Clarke either. “Lexa, hey,” Clarke says beseechingly, “come on, talk to me.” Her tone becomes less soothing, more businesslike: “Are you in pain? Did you pull a stitch again? Because I told you, Lexa, you can't just—”

Lexa hadn't realized it would, but the question touches a nerve. “I'm fine,” she says, jerking away. A second later, she regrets her sulky behavior, but it’s too late. When she forces herself to meet Clarke’s eyes, they're wide and hurt. Lexa sighs, knowing Clarke does not deserve such treatment. “I am sorry,” she says, albeit a bit grudgingly. While she knows she was in the wrong, she still feels like there's something brewing under her skin. “I'm…bored, and frustrated that I must be  _ here,  _ stuck in this room when there’s so much to attend to—”

“Bored, huh?” Clarke’s demeanor changes yet again, this time imbuing her words with a seductive purr.  _ “And  _ frustrated. Well, that's not exactly conducive to a speedy recovery. I think we should do something about that, don't you, Commander?”

By now she’s already crawling her way up Lexa’s body. Lexa can feel the familiar pulse of desire thrumming through her veins as Clarke’s curves mold against her own, igniting her blood and turning it molten. The way that they fit together feels at once like something as grand as fate, and as simple as two puzzle pieces slotting together. Being with Clarke somehow feels as easy as breathing, and yet also so amazing as to take her breath away.

“If you think that’s medically advisable,  _ Fisa,”  _ Lexa says, need lowering and roughening her voice into a growl. Her hands reach automatically for Clarke’s generous hips, taking a firm hold, and she doesn't miss the way Clarke shivers against her. It makes her grin against the Sky girl’s lips when they finally meet her own.

Clarke throws herself into the kiss as she does everything else, passionately and headlong and without hesitation. Lexa feels herself getting swept up in it as she always does, in the sensation of Clarke’s lips moving against hers, but also the realization that Clarke wants her, wants  _ this,  _ just as much as she does. It's still nearly as astonishing as it was the first time and she's not sure she'll ever stop being at least mildly surprised.

“Doctor’s orders,” Clarke murmurs against her mouth as soon as she's got Lexa gasping. She places her hands on Lexa’s shoulders, preparing to press her down into the soft nest of pillows she's been leaning against. But something in Lexa is unwilling to accept it—not this time. Clarke has been sating her needs with skill and enthusiasm since she's been well enough to do so, but she hasn't let Lexa reciprocate, not once. And there's something hard and bright inside of her that can no longer allow that to stand. She needs to have her Sky girl gasping beneath her, writhing, breathless, begging for her touch, for the release it can bring her….

Before Clarke can mention her resistance, Lexa uses her grip on her lover’s waist to flip them in one sure, practiced movement. There's a slight twinge of pain in the muscles of her stomach where the bullet hit, but it’s not much. The burn in Lexa’s body intensifies along with the feeling of satisfaction.  _ Yes. I can do this. I'm  _ going  _ to do this. _

Clarke’s eyes are wide and her mouth opens, presumably to object to the sudden exertion, but Lexa doesn't let her. She dips her head and takes Clarke’s lips in a bruising kiss.

As soon as their mouths meet, Clarke melts. A low hum of approval slips between their tongues and Lexa knows that no matter what excuses Clarke might make—'You're still injured', 'You need your rest', 'I'm all right, really...'—some part of her lover wants this. Wants it hard and fast and rough, both of them struggling for the upper hand the way they used to outside of bed. The way they would have in bed, if she hadn't gotten shot after their first tearful time exploring each other's bodies.

But she's ready to change that. This anger, this desire, this frustration hadn't been present during their first time, or the times after when Clarke had tenderly washed her wound and seen to her every need. But now, it's all Lexa can feel. It makes her want to crawl out of her skin and claw her nails into Clarke's back hard enough to leave marks. It makes her want to howl and scream and make sure that Clarke does the same. It makes her want to unleash all the emotions she has spent so many years bottling up: her anger at being bedridden, the passion she has always been forced to restrain in order to be a leader, and the love that burns brightly in her chest whenever Clarke touches her, or even looks at her.

She's done languishing here in this bed. She's done denying herself. And she will start with Clarke.

Still, she has to check. From the way Clarke is gripping the back of her neck and the way Clarke's mouth is devouring hers, she already knows the answer, but she has to ask the question for her own conscience.

"Tell me to stop," she mutters, breaking their lips apart long enough to speak. "Tell me to stop, and I will. But I want you. And I want you this way, or not at all."

A furrow forms in Clarke's brow and Lexa can tell she's torn. To make the choice easier, she starts scattering kisses along Clarke's throat, tasting the salt of fresh sweat and inhaling the heavenly scent she has come to adore. Clarke smells like fresh soap, but also the outdoors, and it makes Lexa long to leave the room even more.  _ After I'm finished with her, I'll make her take me out of here... _

"You could hurt yourself," Clarke says, but it's clear she hates the words even as they pass her lips. "You should be resting."

It isn't a no, and Lexa takes satisfaction in that. "I have been resting for weeks." She nips at the hollow where Clarke's heartbeat lives, then kisses back up along her throat, ending with a peck on her dimpled chin. That leaves her in the perfect position to gaze into Clarke's beautiful blue eyes—eyes that are clouded with lust. "Now, I want you. I am strong enough."

A spark appears in Clarke's face, one Lexa instantly recognizes. It's a challenge. A dare. Her Sky girl is up to something, and the hands trailing down Lexa's back only make her more suspicious. "Then this is a test,” Clarke says. “You’ll give me all you've got and take everything I dish out. If you can do that without hurting yourself, I'll pronounce you well enough to get out of bed and resume some of your duties. Fair?"

Lexa can't help it. She grins, snatching Clarke’s wandering hands away from where they’ve been trailing down her hips, moving towards her ass, and pins them firmly against the mattress. "Fair."

Clarke puts up a token struggle, but it’s clear from the gleam in her eyes that she’s more than pleased to be where she is. Lexa has yet to take control—to  _ fully  _ take control, to hold Clarke captive and use her lover’s body until she’s shaking and gasping and shouting out her pleasure to the heavens—but  _ Keryon,  _ has she dreamed of it. Their first time together, she was too awestruck to express any of these desires. And then there was the bullet that had nearly torn them apart, and Clarke had been unwilling to touch her in any way other than to heal her wound at first.

When she had managed to make her needs clear, and to tell Clarke that she was ready for more, her Sky girl had refused to allow her to take the lead. Lexa had bowed to Clarke’s wishes out of necessity, but also out of shyness and anxiety. She had worried that if she expressed the ways in which she wanted Clarke—to take her, to possess her, to  _ consume  _ her—she would be met with horror and disgust. But Clarke’s obvious approval now, the way she’s writhing and panting in Lexa’s grip, rubbing her thighs together as though to relieve some ache or pressure, tells Lexa that her desires are not just accepted, but appreciated—even welcomed.

As much as enjoys having Clarke beneath her at last, Lexa also wants to touch. Clarke’s breasts are peeking out from the V of her low-cut top, heaving with each breath and reminding Lexa of how it feels to bury her face in them, and of the sighs and whines and delicious little moans Clarke lets out when Lexa wraps her mouth around first one nipple, then the other...

_ Jok—focus, Leksa!  _ she admonishes herself.  _ Don’t get lost in fantasy when you can have the real thing. _

However, shifting so that she can continue holding Clarke’s wrists to the bed with one hand proves to be too much for her still-healing wound. She’s not entirely successful at holding in her hiss of pain, if Clarke’s sudden frown is any indication, but she quickly adjusts, knowing that her lover will put a stop to this entirely if she does not take care. Inspiration strikes, and she brings up a knee squarely in between Clarke’s legs. Rocking her hips forward to press her thigh against Clarke’s center elicits a gasp, and Lexa doesn’t bother holding back her smirk.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she says, low. Clarke opens her mouth to answer, but Lexa repeats the motion, and all that comes out is another hitched breath. “You like being held down, pinned…you like me reminding you of how strong I am, how much you’re at my mercy…” But while Clarke appears to be beyond words—or, at least, to have decided that any backtalk might keep her from receiving pleasure for even longer—her body is telling Lexa that she’s  _ very  _ appreciative. Her breath is coming faster, she’s meeting each thrust of Lexa’s knee with her hips—and, if that wasn’t enough to express her approval, there’s her frantic nodding.

Still, Lexa needs to hear it from Clarke's lips at least once. She stops moving.

Clarke’s eyes go wide and the words tumble out in a rush. “Yes, Lexa, yes, I am enjoying it, don’t stop—”

“I thought so.” Lexa resumes her movements, unable to resist Clarke’s pleading, but also wanting to hear the sweet sounds of her whimpering and gasping again. As soon as Clarke gets the pressure that she craves, her words cut off, replaced by soft sighs. “I won’t stop,” Lexa continues, “as long as you behave. Do you understand?” To make her meaning clear, she lets go of Clarke’s wrist with one hand, and moves it to the hem of her shirt.

After a second of clear calculation, Clarke nods. Lexa begins lifting her shirt, making sure her fingertips graze along Clarke's trembling belly. It's soft and slightly curved, but there are sheets of defined muscle underneath, and Lexa groans at the contrast. That is Clarke completely: a mixture of hard and soft. When Clarke gives an impatient huff, Lexa considers pausing, but in the end, she can't help herself. She wants to see her Sky girl bare, stripped of these stupid clothes and spread out in all her golden glory.

She strips Clarke's shirt up and over her head in one fluid motion. Clarke lifts up to help, and the motion sets her breasts bouncing, causing moisture to rise in Lexa's mouth along with a deep moan. Clarke's breasts are heavy and full and the tips are capped with bright pink nipples, already puckered into stiff, pleading points. Lexa doesn't waste any time kissing her way down Clarke's neck, sliding her lips along her Sky girl's chest and sucking the nearest peak deep into her mouth.

The moment she does, Clarke stiffens and moans. Her spine arches and the muscles along her abdomen that Lexa had so admired earlier begin trembling. One of her hands comes up, clutching Lexa's hair, and when Lexa tries to pull it away, Clarke stops her. "I said you could try and take control to prove yourself," she pants, gazing down into Lexa's narrowed eyes. "I never said I'd make it easy for you."

Reluctantly, Lexa releases Clarke's nipple, placing a sharp bite on the plump curve of her breast instead. If she needs to show Clarke her strength, so be it. She has remained still on her back and spread her legs for Clarke's comfort countless times over the past several weeks, and she is most certainly finished with that state of affairs—as pleasant as the experiences were. She is  _ Heda. _ Any power taken from her is merely borrowed.

With a growl, she surges on top of Clarke again, ignoring the stiffness in her muscles and the edge of trembling fatigue in her arms. Though both of Clarke's hands clutch at her hair, trying to guide her, Lexa doesn't allow it. She nips and bites her way down along Clarke's body, taking her time when Clarke pushes and going further down when Clarke tries to hold her in place.

When Clarke tries to hold her close to one breast, Lexa switches to the other, using the edges of her teeth to work the cherry-red peaks to even greater hardness. When Clarke tries to help Lexa avoid a ticklish spot near her navel, Lexa lavishes it with extra attention until Clarke is squealing and curling her toes. When Clarke claws at her back, Lexa bears the pain without complaint. One noise of discomfort and she knows Clarke will call a halt to their agreement.

Each time she reaches the sensitive strip of skin between Clarke's hips, Lexa goes back up again—always starting with Clarke's lips and finding a new path down. The second time, she avoids Clarke's breasts entirely, kissing along her shoulders instead and even her arms and sensitive wrists. The third time, her hands wander up and down Clarke's sides, lighting up the skin there with the edges of her nails. With each pass, Clarke's skin puckers until it's covered in gooseflesh and the pale landscape is broken with dusky red and purple patches.

But when Lexa goes back up for a fourth try without removing Clarke's pants, Clarke grows impatient. She wraps her arms around Lexa's torso, drawing her in close and setting sharp teeth against her neck. This time, it's Lexa's turn to feel the sting of a claiming bite. The slight jolt of pain and pleasure sends a pulse straight between her legs, and a few seconds later, she's certain she's ruined her underwear. It hadn't stood a chance against the heat of Clarke's mouth latched onto the cord of her shoulder.

As much as she enjoys the sensation, and as much as she knows she will come to enjoy the mark that will form later, Lexa knows she cannot let this little rebellion stand. She grasps the back of Clarke's hair, tearing her away and seizing her lips in a brutal kiss. Clarke's tongue strokes against hers at first, trying to push forward into her mouth, but Lexa kisses back even harder. Soon, Clarke is the one sucking on her tongue, whimpering around it and bucking beneath her.

Lexa reaches down, tweaking one of Clarke's spit-slick nipples before delving lower in search of the fastenings on her pants. She finds the buttons and ties there and undoes them as fast as she can, keeping Clarke occupied with harsh, biting kisses to make sure the Sky Girl doesn't notice her fumbling. Clarke pauses, preparing to reach down and help, but just in time, Lexa succeeds. She manages to undo Clarke's pants and drag them past her hips, forcing them to catch around Clarke's knees.

Clarke grabs her hand anyway, trying to guide it straight between her legs, but Lexa doesn't give in. She fights back, bringing her fingers to Clarke's inner thigh instead. She's pleased but not surprised to find a sticky trail of wetness there, and she deliberately takes her time following it to the source, pausing at the juncture where Clarke's leg joins her body.

"Fuck, Lexa," Clarke grunts through gritted teeth, pushing her hips forward in search of more contact. "Just touch me—"

Lexa gazes into Clarke's eyes, letting her lover see the burning desire there. She is done hiding it. She is done feeling weak. She loves Clarke with all the strength in her body and all the fierceness in her heart, and she is desperate to finally show it—to  _ unleash _ it.

"Then beg."

For a moment Clarke just stares up at her, and Lexa feels her heart freeze in her chest as she waits for a sign to continue, or to stop. She wishes, not for the first time, that she could somehow know Clarke’s thoughts, her heart—but as she has been doing ever since the day of the gunshot, Clarke grants that wish.

“Lexa…” Clarke’s voice is low and breathy, making Lexa ache to touch her, to obey the unspoken plea—but she is  _ Heda  _ and she has issued a command. She can tell the moment Clarke realizes that she’s not going to break or bend unless her lover gives the word. Clarke’s eyes widen just a bit, then darken with lust. “Please,” she rasps.

Lexa lets out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, before letting her hand slip between Clarke’s thighs.

Clarke gasps and gives a full-body jerk the moment Lexa’s fingers make contact with her soaked, swollen folds. For a moment Lexa worries that she’s done something wrong, but then her lover lets out a little whimper, chasing her retreating hand with her hips, and she realizes that it’s quite the opposite. Her earlier teasing has made Clarke exquisitely sensitive, so much so that even the lightest touch is enough to make her shiver.

While the possibilities of this kind of reactivity are enormously interesting, Lexa isn’t in the mood to torment Clarke. The same hard, bright feeling that’s been driving her since this began is still roaring within her, demanding that she prove herself and claim Clarke for her own. And so she does, taking a few minutes to explore her Sky girl, to find the places that make her hiss and writhe and curse. She drags her fingers down the length of Clarke’s slit, gathering the copious wetness there. When she toys with Clarke’s opening, circling it with two fingers, she feels her lover’s hips jerk, as though she’s barely able to prevent herself from arching forward to take them inside. But she holds her  _ niron's _ gaze with a burning one of her own, letting her know that such behavior won't be tolerated, and Clarke bites her lip.

"Lexa, please..."

But while Clarke's voice and eyes are pleading, the wetness that rushes out to coat Lexa's hand when she shakes her head no tells her that some part of Clarke appreciates the denial. She drags her hand back up to her Sky girl's clit and circles it, running her finger along its base and pushing back its hood, but she's careful not to touch the head. She can feel it throbbing for want of attention, and Clarke has to stifle a whine every time she skates past it, but that only feeds the fire burning in her chest. Soon, she'll be able to see Clarke coming apart beneath her, in her hands,  _ for her _ ...and she can't think of anything she wants more.

She doesn't hold back any longer. Her fingers move back down to Clarke's quivering entrance and push inside, finding nothing but smooth, welcoming heat. Clarke is already so wet, so open. There is no resistance at all as Lexa thrusts forward. Clarke's muscles clutch around her desperately, rippling and pulsing, and Lexa can't hold back a groan. It is a privilege to know Clarke this way—and it is beautiful.

Clarke does not trust easily, but Clarke trusts her.

Clarke does not submit easily, but Clarke submits to her.

When Clarke loves, she loves fiercely, and Lexa knows that Clarke loves her.

Such feelings and words do not come easily to either of them, but they exist. Lexa loves Clarke just as dangerously, just as deeply, and she shows it with the swift pumps of her hand as she starts up a rhythm.

It is a rhythm Clarke clearly approves of. Her hips rock along with it, urging Lexa to go even faster—which she does, encouraged by Clarke's cries. Her Sky girl is exquisitely vocal. She does not try to hide her pleasure, but embraces it with a wildness that Lexa cannot help but admire. Her wavy blonde hair flies in every direction on the pillow and her blue eyes are blazing stars, like the teardrop in the middle of a candle.

Lexa fucks her harder. But it isn't fucking—not really. It is rough and raw and a little savage, but there is more behind it as well. There is more in the way she seeks out the perfect spot against Clarke's front wall and hooks against it, more in the way that Clarke moans for her, more in the way their eyes meet as they look at each other. The other side of savagery is protectiveness, and Lexa knows that injured or not, she will keep her vow and protect Clarke with her life—the life she almost lost once already.

Clarke is leaking into her hand, spilling hot little slips of clear fluid, and each time Lexa drives into her, more seeps out. She's never seen Clarke so slick before, so eager, so ready _.  _ With the extra lubrication, she's able to pick up a brutal pace, a pace Clarke handles expertly. Clarke is taking everything she has to give, all the hurt and frustration at her injury, and all the love as well that has come with her healing. 

And, at last, Lexa's efforts are rewarded. 

It starts when Clarke goes stiff on the next thrust. Her whole body shakes, tensing as if her very skin is going to split. Then, with a shout, she arches to the ceiling while Lexa watches in awe. Her muscles clench and shudder, milking Lexa's fingers for all they're worth. Clarke's clit throbs beneath Lexa's thumb as she shivers through the aftershocks of her orgasm. When it’s over, she collapses, gasping, against the pillows, suddenly just as languid and spent right now as she had been screaming and tensed the moment prior. They take a moment to just breathe in sync, one that Lexa spends staring at Clarke in awe, waiting for her Sky girl to come back to her.    
  
It doesn’t take long. Clarke surges up with all her strength, tangling her fingers in Lexa's hair for a kiss, and the Commander kisses her back.   
  
Lexa has known flame, has known its hard, bright kiss on her skin, and has known its light in her mind. And Clarke is nothing if not a flame. The way that her touch sets Lexa’s body alight; the way that her eyes burn into Lexa’s own; the way that she flares up in challenge and fury and passion tells Lexa that  _ Klark kom Skaikru  _ is nothing if not a wildfire, untamed and untameable. The rough tenderness with which Clarke is touching her now, the hands roaming over her body and plucking at the clothes she’s still wearing, is about as close to banked as Clarke’s flame might ever get.    
  
The burn is all the sweeter for the way it just blazed up, and Lexa’s mind is still full of the sight of it, even as she trades increasingly urgent kisses with Clarke, even as she allows her to rise into a sitting position and draw Lexa’s shirt over her head. The image of Clarke looking up at her through heavy-lidded eyes as  _ “please” _ rasps through her kiss-swollen lips is still hanging in Lexa’s brain as Clarke’s hands eagerly trace the muscles in her shoulders, her back, her arms. The memory of Clarke shuddering with the effort of preventing herself from arching to take Lexa inside of her is still at the fore as Clarke reaches for the buttons of her pants and undoes them without even looking, without even breaking their kiss.    
  
There is a pause, one in which they both suck in breaths, as Clarke’s knuckles brush the bottom of the raw and angry scar on Lexa’s stomach, their minds assailed by an entirely different sort of image – but then it’s passed. They go back to kissing each other with fierce gentleness, and the hard, bright thing in Lexa’s chest, the one that had driven her to take Clarke in her arms and make love to a flame, is sated. She is content to allow her niron to roll them over among the bedding, and to simply watch without attempting to guide as Clarke begins to kiss her way down Lexa’s belly while she draws Lexa’s trousers off. When Clarke’s mouth reaches her center, drawing her in and sucking and licking and nipping like the soft crackle of candle flames, she does no more than sigh, and slide her hands into her lover’s mane, and let her head fall back onto the pillows, preparing to bask in the warmth and light that ripple through her with every stroke of Clarke’s tongue.    
  
Whether it’s because of Lexa’s previous performance, or for some other reason, Clarke has decided not to tease Lexa. The motions of her tongue are firm and determined, swirling around Lexa’s clit and lashing the head relentlessly. It doesn't take long until she's clinging to her lover for dear life, hips moving shamelessly in search of her pleasure, as though the brilliant flare of Clarke’s surrender has somehow also burned away the bonds that have held Lexa back from fully pursuing her own bliss. Heat and pressure builds and builds within her until it explodes out of her, her entire body captive to its force and trembling against the point where she and Clarke connect. Her vision even goes white for a moment, and when it returns, she’s slumped back against the pillows, and Clarke is looking up at her with a grin that, for once, is devoid of even the slightest trace of smugness.    
  
There's something in her gaze that makes Lexa tremble all over again, something she's not quite ready to address. So she uses the hand she's still got in Clarke’s hair to tug her up, urging her to settle herself against Lexa, and this Clarke does quite happily. For a time, they merely bask in the moment’s heady glow, but then the anxiety rumbling in Lexa’s stomach forces her to speak. “So,” she says, her voice rusty as though from disuse, almost like it had been when she'd spoken for the first time in the days after the gunshot, “where do we go from here?”   
  
She means with her healing, but only in the very thinnest sense – and she knows that Clarke is smart enough to comprehend that immediately. She also means with this new dynamic that has introduced itself to their relationship; she means, also, the world beyond these doors, where the weather and the war still lie in wait, pacing and growling and hungry. She's not sure how much of this Clarke gleans as she picks her head up from Lexa’s chest, but the smile her lover gives her holds only the barest hint of the darkness outside.    
  
“Well, I'm pretty comfy,” Clarke says, her voice and grin humming with sleep, “and I think we could both use a nap after the, uh, physical therapy session we just had.”   
  
Lexa snorts at her ridiculousness and her  _ Skaikru _ idioms, and opens her mouth to say  _ You know very well what I mean,  _ Klark, but instead she uses it to press a kiss to Clarke’s temple. That's the meaning of Clarke’s almost carefree smile, and her seemingly meaningless words: what happens next can wait. They are here, and they are together, and they will face whatever comes in the same way. No matter what storms howl without their windows, or within their souls, they will have each other to cling to. And as long as they have that, their flame will never die.

**Author's Note:**

> Fayogon: guns  
> Fisa: healer  
> Niladon: one who kneels (term of endearment)  
> Niron: dear one  
> Keryon: spirit  
> Jok: fuck


End file.
